


Capture

by Rexxy



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Control, M/M, this very well may change, top T-Bag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-14 08:17:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18048920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rexxy/pseuds/Rexxy
Summary: Michael, Lincoln and Sucre encounter T-Bag in the middle of a job and Michael is in charge of making sure he doesn't escape while Lincoln and Sucre are out doing the work. All Michael has to do is make sure the con doesn't get under his skin - a task easier said than done.





	1. Soft Persuasion

“What makes _you_ any better than _me_ right now, Pretty?”

 

Michael didn’t let his eyes slip from T-Bag’s at the question, simply choosing to shake his head with a huff of breath and a disbelieving smile in leu of a response to the psychopath before him. Morals, he could say, empathy, perhaps, or even just a shred of humanity, but he figured the way to get to T-Bag the most was to pretend he hadn’t heard anything at all and instead just level his gun.

 

 “To think I nearly had it all.” The murderer continued. “A job, a home, a  _life_.” The Alabamian let out a small chuckle. “You’d a thought it would be _me_ to wreck it all like a devastatin’ wildfire, but no!” He threw his working hand into the air, emphasising his point. “You know who it was?” He looked at Michael with a small lick of his lips and then turned his gaze to the window, almost longingly, inwardly pleased that Michael didn’t take his eyes from him. “You. It’s _always_ you, Scofield.”

 

Michael didn’t know what to make of that, despite the fact that he knew that Bagwell was doing what he did best, putting on a performance. He also knew that he couldn’t let himself be deceived, despite his ability to empathise with anyone trying to redeem themselves. “You don’t believe that, and neither do I.” His voice held the exact emotion he wanted it to: none.

 

T-Bag shook his head and sucked his teeth, making a sound that signified his disagreement with Michael’s assumption. “I don’ need your belief, boy. I know what I am and I ain’t ashamed one bit. Unlike some people I am not a prisoner to my own pre-dil-ec-tions.” As he said that he lolled his head back around and bit his bottom lip, looking straight into Michael’s eyes, drinking in the ever-present disgust mingled with interest and what T-Bag wanted to read as lust – whether it was there or not. “I’m a social creature, and I can’t help it if that happens to translate through my actions.” At the lack of response T-Bag just shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. College boy like you never had to deal with anything worse than a name-callin’ and a kick to the ego when you failed a test.”

 

Michael scoffed. “The only suffering you’ve seen is what you’ve created for the innocent lives you’ve destroyed,” he said, impassive, “so don’t act like _you’re_ the one who should be mourned.”

 

T-Bag seemed momentarily hurt before he lunged forward in a fit of rage and was pulled back by the restraint wrapped out his left ankle, making him fall to the floor on the limited support of his right hand. Michael half expected him to spit an insult in his pathetic misery but was surprised by the older man’s soft-spoken yet passionate response. “You don’t know sufferin’.”

 

They stayed silent for a small while, which Michael found more uncomfortable than having to listen to T-Bag’s ramblings, instead being forced to listen to ragged breathing as T-Bag put himself right again. It was especially difficult to live with the silence in a room so big. He, Lincoln and Sucre were hiding out in the hotel when they came across the sleazy con and forced him into the suite they were currently in. Michael had immediately been put in charge for the next two days while the other two ran a con to get a substantial amount of money from the company vaults. An easy enough escape, with Michael having already done all the planning. The only set back had been the uncannily well-times arrival of T-Bag, a problem felt by the engineer that could only be handled by himself. Inevitably, while Michael was in the midst of his thoughts, the silence was broken.

 

“Never took you for the torturin’ type, Pretty.” T-Bag rested against the white wall, seeming almost resigned to his fate, his quick-fire anger having faded, though Michael knew that not to be true. The unarmed man looked through the window again, despite seeing through the corner of his eye that Scofield was still staring right at him with no mercy.

 

“Unlike some people I have a conscience.”

 

T-Bag just chuckled and turned to look in the other man’s direction. “I didn’t mean for me, sugar.” He shifted slightly and let himself lean forward as he slowly let out his next few words with delicate precision, like a fisherman slowly pulling in the reel to attract a catch to his bait. “You’re gonna get tired eventually and then what you gonna do?” He shuffled forward a little, crossing his legs so that his cuffed ankle was closer to the radiator he was attached to than the front of his body. “You gonna sleep talk me to death? Even if you was capable of such a thing we both know you wouldn’t do it.” He then moved back to his original position and leaned back against the radiator, ignoring the searing heat on his back in favour of nonchalance. “You’re soft.” He grinned a way that made Michael instantaneously feel disgusted and intrigued by the guile insinuated in the expression. “Not that that’s always bad thing. I am quite often victim to a soft-hearted fellow such as yourself, hence this whole situation.” He gestured around the room as if everything were an offense to him at that time.

 

“Don’t assume for one second I won’t hurt you.” Michael assured him. “After everything you’ve done you deserve it. Your death would be a justice to the world.” At that, he saw T-Bag’s eyes widen like a depraved animal looking at it’s prey and thought, not for the first time, how much of an animal this man truly was. How there wasn’t much of difference between him and skulking hyena that people go to look at in the zoo, unaware of just how dangerous they truly are absent captivity. He saw the slight twitch in the man’s wrists and his tongue darting out to wet his lips and give his mouth something to do while he calculated his response. He could see the rage behind T-Bag’s expression and saw the man try to figure out a way to tear himself from his bondage and attack his captor. But not this time – T-Bag was smart, but Michael knew he was smarter. Little did he know T-Bag was thinking the very same about him.

 

Filling the older man’s mind was the memory of him having torn his own hand from his healing body despite the exhaustion brought on by hours of torment to escape from the police. He was like a wounded animal, and he needn’t have Scofield prodding at him right now. T-Bag knew his own raw, animalistic strength and he also knew the older man had no idea just how far he was willing to go, just how bold he was willing to be, to get what he so desperately wanted. “I am always as-tounded by your foul mouth, Pretty.” The slow stress of the words completely juxtaposed his white-hot rage and he could feel his heart pounding against his chest as he was refused his outlet of anger by being cuffed to the radiator. “Mark my words, boy, you will learn respect one way or another.” He assured, despite being at a huge disadvantage and having no immediate way of following through with anything he said.

 

Michael just shook his head and refused to respond, telling himself it was because T-Bag didn’t deserve his time of day, but knowing the man had his full attention, not only as a hostage, but as an intellectual match of some sorts. No matter what Michael said, it couldn’t deter the smaller man, so there was really no point in saying anything at all. He doubted it would change the way any of their conversations worked. T-Bag was more to be spoken at than to in Michael’s mind. He might as well be sleeping for all the effort he was putting into their chat. That fact didn’t seem to disappoint the other con one bit, however, and if anything just made him speak more. After a while, he gradually lowered his voice and had Michael involuntarily leaning forward to keep up in case he said something important in the midst of all the useless rambling.

 

“You know, your guard etiquette is seriously terrible. Just the worst. I’ve held finer conversations with a brick wall.” The man chuckled to himself, noticing the slight nod of Michael’s head as he attempted to keep himself awake. At the small social queue T-Bag lowered his voice more and put on a drowsy lull to his voice that slurred his words slightly, like he was losing the effort to even talk and started to tell a fabricated story about a boy and a wolf that his father had told him when he was a boy to try to lure him into a false sense of security before he took what he wanted. Without the other suspecting anything the escapist was soon out like a light, having started to sub-consciously drown out T-Bag’s habitual ramblings, making the older man make a small sound of triumph as he tried to figure a way out of the corner he’d been backed into. There were no weapons around other than the one in Scofield’s loosening grip that was too far to reach and no foreseeable way of getting through his cuffs, so he set his mind to work on the one thing he wanted to figure out most in this world: Michael Scofield.


	2. Turning the Tables

T-Bag's eyes raked over the younger man's body, especially the curve of his neck as he rested his head on his shoulder, hunched over while he _rested his eyes_ , as he told himself, having not had any sleep for the past one and a half days and having let his defences down around someone he didn't think of a threat to his safety- T-Bag would almost have been flattered if he didn't also find the fact insulting. Michael had only been trying to close his eyes to drown out the sound of T-Bag's voice and had convinced himself that he wasn't going to sleep but then here he was, again at the mercy of his unpredictably not immortal body. The gun laid an inch from his hand on the bed he sat on the end of, and his breathing was soft and even, creating an air of innocence that Theodore was unmistakably interested in. The con could see the vein underneath the inked skin pulse gently and had the urge to sink his teeth into that neck and draw ungodly sounds from the other man. He stared at that for a while, then changed the angle of his head and tilted so he could rake his eyes over Scofield's muscular arms and chest where his shirt was skin-tight, just the way he liked it. A slip of his collar revealed Michael's collarbone as he shifted and huffed a breath, which made Theodore smile to himself a little and shift the way he was sitting so he could get a better view of so rare a sight. 

"My, my, Scofield. You are just the icing on the cake aren't you?" He murmured to himself, unable to keep his running commentary at bay.

Michael shifted again at that, his mouth opening slightly and letting out a hitch of a breath and well, _didn't that just make Theodore's day_. What he wouldn't give to hear that almost dirty noise slip from those sinfully parted lips again. He started to feel a familiar stirring in his stomach as he started to wonder what Michael was dreaming about. Probably something about algebra or cuff links or something equally as formal, T-Bag imagined, Scofield ever being the Scholar. That got him onto thinking about clothes, and more specifically, Michael in clothes, and even better, Michael removing said clothes. He grinned to himself, his eyes glued to the genius before him as he imagined putting his hand on his silky smooth collarbone and dragging his hand down to undo the first button. He started to palm himself through his trousers and bit down his groan as he pictured tearing through the rest of the buttons, not wanting to waste any valuable time. He imagined Scofield's expression of helplessness and he watched his pristine shirt get thrown to the ground, torn and discarded.

He would then push the man into laying on the bed and let his hands wander as he pleased. Somewhere in that equation he imagined his lover being cuffed to the bed posts so he could continue without being thrown off. He was just about to get to what it would be like to run his hands over the expanse of that solid, artistic chest when a soft moan escaped from the man in question and Bagwell felt his arousal soar as a spark lit him up to full capacity in under a second. He was frozen with shock, his hand hovering over his tented crotch and unknowingly holding this own breath. 

"One more time for Uncle Teddy now, Pretty." T-Bag pleaded quietly after he recovered, hoping to taunt the sound out again one way or another. Instead, he just received a sniff a small intake of air, but the damage was already done now. The little shit had ruined even this. He was intending to have the best time possible in his captivity and now it wasn't going to work at all. Nothing he could think of in his mind, no deprived fantasy or explicit image he could create could replicate the sound he had just witnessed. He sat back and started to unbutton his trousers. The only thing he could force his mind to do at that point was to simply replay the sound in his head, louder, quieter, anything as he continued to take in the man before him with his lustful glare. Maybe the engineer wasn't as plain-minded as T-Bag had expected, and the thought drove him up the wall.

 

..............................................................

 

 _Michael leaned back against the headboard, looking up at the ceiling as unfamiliar hands traced up his torso and around his neck, a thumb coming up to hook onto his bottom lip and pull it down. He felt completely at the mercy of the touches, and the loss of control felt freeing. There were no complications here, only results, and_ good _ones at that. His lip was released as a gentle mouth came down on his neck and sucked slightly just in the crook on his left side, making him let out a soft moan that made him twitch and buck up onto the body above him, eliciting an eerily familiar chuckle. He relaxed his body again and let himself give in to the other's administrations when he felt the spot on his neck get massaged softly with his thumb and almost let himself let out another sound when the voice started up again, this time trying to encourage him, "One more time for Uncle Teddy now, Pretty."_

_He quickly looked to the face attached to the body and found that he wasn't absolutely disgusted by the sight of Theodore Bagwell above him. In fact, he moved his head up into an impulsive kiss that seemed to be immediately dominated by his bed-partner. It seemed to last for hours and when he was finally allowed to pull back he hitched a breath. Teddy only gave him a smile and carried on trailing kisses down his neck and over his abs until he reached lower and hooked a finger into his boxers. Deep brown eyes started up at him, pouting the anticipation as he slowly dragged the material down, inch by inch._

_In the back of his mind, he felt a creeping dread that he couldn't quite place until it was at the forefront of his mind, interrupting his dream full stop._

 

_\---------------------------------_

 

When he woke up, his head snapped downwards and then straight back up to be confronted with the sight of a red and panting T-Bag that was stroking his erection underneath his underwear, and staring directly at Scofield with a heat that he didn't know where to place. He didn't the time to react as Theodore let out a groan and his body tensed while they made eye contact and Michael had to rush to the bathroom to dry heave, his disgust taking over. He felt himself begin to sweat and shake and was thankful for the wall between him and T-Bag that hid his embarrassment. He got up on legs that threatened to betray him and splashed cold water in his face from the sink. He was still trying to collect his thoughts when he heard the pull up of a zip and a laugh that was breathless and promised future teasing.

"You sound like a real angel when you're in the midst of _passionate ventures,_ you know? Holy _Mary_ , I could listen to that all day."

"Shut your mouth." Michael was not in the mood, and what did he mean in the midst of passionate ventures? What exactly had he given away? What was T-Bag going to do with that information? Why was even thinking of that in the first place? Why did it feel so normal when he was dreaming? God he'd never been so horrified.

"Don't get yourself all riled up over it, now. It can be our dirty lil' secret. At a price a'course." Michael heard the accent get laid on thickly and made himself shake his head, ignoring T-Bag long enough for the man to chuckle and carry on speaking in a way that didn't help to settle the building nausea. "You ain't even gonna try denyin' it? Gotta hand it to you, that's bravery. How's about we get over the niceties and settle into some good old-fashioned Stockholm syndrome, hm?"

Michael steeled his expression back to neutral and walked back into the room, noting immediately the lack of the gun he'd left as he'd sprinted to the bathroom, and thought about how likely it was that he'd make it back to the bathroom before he was threatened, but didn't get far.

"Ah ah ah." Michael could hear the humour in the other's voice. "Get your ass over here." T-Bag gestured to the bed with his head and Michael walked slowly to edge, then sat down, staying silent.

"No need to look so scared, Pretty, I just want you to get me out of this here contraption." He wriggled his ankle and the chain on the cuffs clattered. 

"No chance."

"What?" 

"I said- no."

T-Bag huffed a disbelieving breath of laughter. "I think you're forgettin' just who has the upper hand here." He said as he waved the gun around before focusing it back on Michael. "Unlike you I have no absolutely no problem shootin' a man. But I'd just hate to damage that insufferably fine physique, so just do as you're told." Michael hated the look in T-Bag's expression just then, one that told him just how much he _wanted_  Michael to take his orders. He then had an idea. It wasn't the most confident he'd ever felt in his plans, but he couldn't let T-Bag out on the streets again, not after how much terror the man reigned.

"You won't shoot me." Michael said, putting his hand down and sitting more comfortably, unperturbed by T-Bag's usual anger. 

"Are you jokin' right now-"

"You won't kill me because if you did then you know every hope of you ever _having_ me is gone, and we both know that's something you hold far more dear to you than seeing me dead."

T-Bag bit his lip, hating the way Michael was so confident. He had half a mind to shoot him just for the bold tone to his voice. "You're gettin' awful cocky now." He warned with an undertone of danger there than Michael didn't miss.

Michael smiled and laid down on the bed, stretching as he did so, putting his arms behind his head and letting T-Bag see him all laid out. He would have enjoyed the attention if it wasn't coming from the man that it was. "I don't think I am. I think you like it." He chuckled and T-Bag felt his heart start to pound faster and his face go a little red with frustration.

T-Bag shrugged and said "don't say I didn't warn you." But Michael didn't move a muscle, because both of them knew he was right. T-Bag tore his eyes from Michael's outstretched form and just looked down at where he was attached and made a sly smile before shocking Michael from his little power-play with a gunshot that snapped straight through the chain attaching his ankle to the radiator.

Michael shot up at the same time as T-Bag and looked at the man before him, his expression doused with un-tamed desire before he was knocked back down onto the bed, T-Bag dropping the gun and pinning his wrists down. The fear sent an ice-cold feeling into Michael's body and he was momentarily stiff with it before he tried to struggle and realised Theodore had many years more experience in holding people down and beating them because when he shifted the sensitive pressure points in his writs twinged and he winced in front of the older man, to his dismay. 

"Well now, look at you." T-Bag's eyes mixed up and down Scofield's body in a way that made the younger man both terrified and intrigued. "All spread out like an array of freshly cut roses all for little old Teddy." He sucked his teeth again, appreciating the view before tipping his head to the side and then leaning down and kissing Scofield's neck exactly where he'd wanted to earlier. Michael felt his heart beat quicken, an automatic reaction he told himself, and tried to buck him off, which annoyed Theodore so instead of moving he bit down. It wasn't enough to draw blood but it was enough to make Scofield make a sharp inhale, followed by a soft moan similar to his earlier one as T-Bag started to suck at it so that it would leave a bruise. One that could be covered up of course - he did't want Lincoln to be on his case any more than he already was and he doubted Michael would tell him about hitter little rendezvous. 

"Stop it!" Michael protested, but T-Bag just chuckled against his skin, blowing hot air over the mark that made Michael suppress shiver. 

"I don't think you really want that. You can't go teasing a man like that, Pretty, it's down right ungodly." T-Bag then moved his mouth up and bit Michael's earlobe in a teasing sort of way that made Michael squirm, before going for Michael's face and forcing his mouth on the younger man's, who tried to open it to protest, which Theodore used as an excuse to get his tongue inside the others mouth, though much to Michael's surprise it wasn't invasive and gross like he had found some of his partners to be, but rather gentle. He then felt T-Bag start to grind against him and Michael was ashamed of his body's reaction that made his cock start to harden underneath the ministrations of the other man, which made his mind panic. With no thought behind the frantic action, he bit down on T-Bag's tongue, making the other man pull back and retract his hands in shock. 

"Son of a bitch." The con exclaimed, then slapped Michael before he found himself being caught by the throat and flung to the side while Michael picked up the gun and pointed it to the man strewn on the bed. 

Just as T-Bag was about to launch himself at Michael in his fury, they heard the front door open and the unmistakable deep voice of Lincoln and Sucre making their way into the apartment. 


	3. Lost and Found

"Michael? Things okay in there with Bagwell?" Lincoln's deep voice questioned through the apartment.

At that, T-Bag nodded silently, almost begging if he'd had the pride. Michael just rolled his eyes and answered. "I'm fine."

"Great. Come out here so we can show you what we got." 

"Linc there might be a small problem-" Michael was starting before he was cut off by a loud bang on the front door.

"Open up this is the police." An aggressive shout warned. "There's been reports of gunshot heard from this room 10 minutes ago. Open the door right now."

Michael threw his arms up in exasperation, and T-Bag just grinned. Like always this sleazy con had landed on his feet.

Instead of the opening of the door, the next thing to assault the two's senses was Lincoln and Sucre bursting into the room with heavy-looking backpacks and an angry expression. "You said it was fine! How are we gonna get to the motel without being busted now?" Sucre accused.

"Actually, amigo, he said _he_ was fine. I am too, if anyone was wonderin'" T-Bag added bitterly, strangely at ease despite the severity fo the situation. That was until he was punched in the stomach by Lincoln and doubled over, cursing the man to high heaven.

"Well we all know Michael didn't shoot you free, asshole!" Lincoln whisper-shouted, then beckoned to Michael, "we need to run. Now. Let's go out the fire escape." And with that he was yanking the window open and ushering Michael and Sucre through before shutting the window before T-Bag got the chance and just as he cracked the window open the police burst in and he quickly dived out of sight to the floor then shuffled under the bed. 

He stayed stock still as the feds rushed into the room and talked hastily to each other before one noticed that the window was cracked open and one went to quickly look out and upon noticing the three men running down the fire escape, two leaped out the window and two left to go meet them at the entrance. 

It had all happened with such finesse that T-Bag wasn't entirely sure how he'd gotten off that easily, but then it wouldn't be the first time. He shifted out from under the bed carefully, then brushed off the dust from his suit jacket and walked calmly out of the room, taking the free pillow chocolates on his way out and simply walking down the stairs with a spring in his step that only ever came from the thrill of outsmarting someone. Two more officers were rushing past hime up the stairs, inciting his fight or flight mode that was quickly extinguished with one of the men barking at him that the building was going to be evacuated and he needed to leave. This time he hadn't even meant to get away, which made it a hundred times more satisfying. 

Once he was out of the building he walked to a library and used the public computers to find out where the nearest motel was. Unlucky for him there were two of equal distance, but if he knew Michael Scofield, he'd be going to the one that was just out of the border of the state they were in and thus out of jurisdiction of a certain police force, so he smiled at his own genius before going and hailing a cab to his destiny. 

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Michael sat on the motel bed bouncing his knee up and down nervously, much to the quick irritation of his brother. "He's going to find us." He told his companions. "And that's if he doesn't put in some sort of anonymous tip to the owners."

"Would you calm down already, he won't find us." Lincoln asserted. 

"He _always_ finds us. We need to stop underestimating him."

"Actually we found him this time." Lincoln reminded him. "And I think you'll find he's now at the mercy of the feds."

"Oh yeah?" Michael looked up at his brother, with a disbelieving expression. "Then why haven't we heard the news of the convicted felon Theodore Bagwell safely captured by police on the news yet? I'm telling you he got away."

"He was cornered, Michael! There was only one way out of that room and he never took it."

"There wasn't supposed to be a way out on SONA yet here he is. He's like water through a sieve, and this isn't the end of it. Why won't you believe me?"

Lincoln gave a frustrated huff. "It's not that I don't believe you, it's that you're panicking over nothing. You said it yourself, this plan was too complicated for anyone one of us to keep up with. It's you that needs to believe in yourself."

"Yeah you gotta stop freaking out  Michael it's going to fine. I mean the fact we managed to get here in the first place is a miracle." Sucre added and kissed the gold cross hanging around his neck.

"Thing about it, the guy's just some inbred psycho with a bad temper, he ain't got brains like you do. He's driven purely by impulse!" Lincoln was leaning against the wall facing his younger brother and trying to use a placating voice.

"You don't know him like _I_ do!" Michael raised his voice, frustrated.

"How's that then Mike? Because I was in prison with the little bastard before you were even considering breaking in!" Lincoln replied, stinging his brother with the words as he began to loose his patience with his brother's stubbornness.

"I was always going to help you!"

"Not always."

Michael got up to get in his brothers space before Sucre put his hand on his chest and told him to calm down.

"Listen, Papi, things are a little heated right now because of the chase we just went on don't take it personal and Linc stop being an ass." Lincoln just snorted with resignation. 

"Maybe I'll just sleep in my own room tonight. No useless interruptions while I figure out how to get us further ahead, _again_." And with that, Michael pushed past Sucre and out the door with his backpack to go get another room. As he was leaving he heard Lincoln telling Sucre they needed space so not to go after him. He was grateful for that at least. 

 

\-------------------------------------------

 

Laying back on the bed in his single room opposite that of Lincoln and Sucre, he contemplated the argument to try to distract his mind from thinking about what had happened with T-Bag. Did Lincoln really think Michael would have left him there all alone? Even if he had thought he was guilty? He knew he could be a bit impassive at times but he thought he could always rely on his brother to know that he loved him no matter what and would do anything for his family. Even let a killer like Theodore Bagwell out onto the streets. No. Stop thinking about him. Why did his mind suddenly focus on the name? He didn't know but it brought back his anger.

He got up and started to pace up and down the room, trying to drown out the thought of T-Bag on top of him, heavy and moving against him in a way Michael had never experienced before, and regrettably wanted to desperately experience again. He tapped his head with his palm to try and get rid of the images but all he achieved was making the thought of T-Bag's hands on him come to the forefront of his mind. He shook his head and decided to go for a walk and distract himself until he was too tired to think anymore.

He put on his jacket and walked out of the room, slamming the door and rushing down the path so quickly it took him a second to recognise the figure he'd just walked past leaning against the wall. 

"Fancy seein' you here-" T-Bag started before Michael caught him around the throat with all his strength and dragged him to his room, shoving him on the floor and slamming the door. 

"What's your game? How did you get out?"

T-Bag stood up from the floor, a fire in his eyes that Michael couldn't place. "I ain't got no game, I'm just what the Irish folk call lucky. But you better start showing me some respect now, or I'm goin' to lose my temper with you." T-Bag pointed at the other man, an expression of realisation gracing his face when he saw Michael's face have a forced lack of reaction. He put his hand down and swaggered up to Michael, putting an inch, if that, between the two of their faces. He bit his bottom lip as his eyes looked at the other man's mouth before flickering back up to those ocean-blue eyes. "But somethin' tells me you wouldn't consider that punishment, would you?"

"Get away from me." Michael pushed out while he shoved the other man back so hard he toppled to the floor again. 

Before Michael could blink, however, the other man had tackled him tot he ground with him and straddled him with all his weight. "What did I _just_ say?" T-Bag said with a twinkle in his eye. 

"Get. Off" Michael warned.

"Or what? You ain't got the torture gene, Pretty." T-Bag took Michaels jaw in his hand and forced the other man's face in his direction. "What's your threat? You gonna sic the sink on me? Have big brother beat me up somethin' rotten? Or you gonna high this battle yourself?" Michael tried to bring his hands up to push the older man off but he was blocked as T-Bag easily knock this arm away and pinned him down by leaning further down, hovering closer to the engineer's face. "You know, there's no shame in surrender. Maybe ewe can even come to some kind of com-promise." T-Bag put emphasis on that word in particular as his eyes flickered down to Michael's mouth and he bit his own lip as he grinned.

"What did you have in mind?" Michael asked, his useless monotones taking over as he went into business mode to strike a deal.

"Oh I think you know." T-Bag leaned down and placed an oddly soft his on Michael's jaw, his stubble scratching around where their skin met. He then whispered into Michael's ear, sending shivers down his spine. "And somehow and think it would be mutually beneficial." 


End file.
